CHEATS HOLD SWAY

“Hi, Lissy Ammamma! It has been a long time”, Sam embraced Lissy, his mother’s cousin. Sam knew very well that Lissy had never met him though he knew all about Lissy’s family  from his mother Susy. Susy and Lissy were second cousins. But as Susy and her family were staying at Ullala near Kasargod there had been no contact between the two families.  Lissy wondered who this youth could be as she could not place him.

“I know you could not place me as we have not met earlier. I am Mohan, son of Gracy Ammamma and Johnychayan of Kaithapurathu Veedu, Mundakayam.” said Sam. “Amma had always asked me to visit you, but unfortunately I could not carry out her wish till now. As you know she is now no more. I have an interview for a Lecturer’s post at the St.Gregorios College tomorrow. I am taking up a room in a Hotel at Kottarakkara”. Sam knew that Gracy and Lissy were cousins and that they had a special relationship when they were young. As Johny was an employee of  TISCO, Jamshedpur  and Gracy was a nurse in the TATA Hospital there , the family had been staying at  Jamshedpur. Mohan and his sister Maya grew up there. They were Post Graduates and were looking for an opening somewhere in Kerala as their parents had settled at Mundakayam after retirement.   Sam knew the connections. He had also known that the distance kept the families of Gracy and Lissy apart. They were unable to keep in touch.

Lissy was convinced by the smooth conversation of Sam that he was Mohan, the son of her dear cousin Gracy who had passed away suddenly. Lissy could not attend the funeral as she had been at Raipur looking after her grand daughter. Lissy’s husband was at Jorhat  serving the Indian Army. There was no accommodation for the family at Jorhat. Lissy and Suja, her younger daughter had to return to their own house at Valakom. Suja was doing her third year at Kottarakkara for a nursing degree.

“Mohan, I am very sad that Gracy Ammamma had passed away. I blame myself for not even attending her funeral. Since you have to attend the interview tomorrow I’ll be happy if you would stay with us tonight instead of spending your time in a Hotel. Kottarakkara is not far from here. Take the guest room and prepare well for the interview.” Sam concurred reluctantly.

Suja was happy to meet a close relative when she returned from the College in the evening. She did not spend much time with Sam as her mother had told her not to disturb Mohan who was preparing for the interview.

Sam was pouring over a number of books during the night. Lissy was happy she could be of assistance to Mohan, her dear Gracy Ammamma’s son. Sam freshened up early in the morning and left for the interview. Lissy and Suja wished Mohan best of luck. Sam assured that he would write to them from Mundakayam.

Johny was shell shocked when Lissy and Suja called on him. They were crying. They said Mohan had come and stayed with them for a night to attend an interview at Kottarakkara. But soon after Mohan had left for Kottarakkara,  Suja was to leave for her College. She found to her horror that her ornaments – a gold chain of two sovereigns and two bangles of one sovereign each – were missing. She had left them on her table when she was taking her bath. As there was no one else at the house they were certain  Mohan had lifted them.

“But, Mohan is at Kollam, attending coaching classes for Bank exams. That is the photograph of Mohan.”

 Lissy and Suja  were aghast.. The photo had no resemblance. 

DR. TINY NAIR - A WONDERFUL EXPOSITION

Dr. Tiny Nair is a well known Cardiologist in Thiruvananthapuram. He looks after his patients very well. He is quietly efficient. Many owe their survival  to his timely intervention.

But the eminent Doctor has a talent that is little known. He writes beautifully. He has imagination. He conveys.  He knows how to be creative. There is an article ' All depends on which side of the counter you are in' in the newspaper 'The Hindu' on Sunday, December 18, 2011. The theme has been developed from a few  incidents in his life.   The individual who undergoes such incidents  ignores them . He finds them insignificant. Here is an exception.

The article narrates the frustration when one approaches   public utilities that offer services to citizens. Though it is the right of the citizen to receive the best of services he is looked upon as an enemy. The worst is delivered by those who are placed there to deliver the best. The paradox is that the individuals who ill treat people are the vociferous complainants when they look for services elsewhere.

The ability to create  value from  vacuum is the hallmark of genius. Dr. Tiny Nair is a genius of the highest order.

THE ASCENT OF INDIAN RUPEE

                           

It was in the year 2006 that we had first transited through Bhandaranaike International Airport, Colombo. We were astounded by the notice displayed at the Duty Free shops that stated vehemently ‘Indian Rupee not accepted’. We had to pay in US Dollars for our purchases. We had to shell out one US Dollar for a coffee. Though we  tried to talk them into accepting our currency they had declined our request with disdain.

While we were at Dubai and Abu Dhabi, the payments had to be in UAE Dirhams. Indian Rupee was not accepted in the shops or hotels there.  However at the shops or hotels run by Indians the price or cost expressed in Rupees had to be paid in UAE Dirhams. For example if we were demanded ten Rupees it meant we had to pay 10 UAE Dirhams.

We passed through Colombo Airport a second time in the year 2009 on our travel to Hong Kong and Beijing. 2006 was replicated everywhere.

It was with a pang we learned that Indian Rupee did not command respect anywhere else in the world.

There was a ray of sunshine in 2010. We were at Cairo. The hawkers at the pyramids  were shouting  that they were accepting Indian Rupees for purchases. We were happy times were changing. 

It was a refreshing frame in September 2011. Duty free shops accepted Indian Rupees at Colombo. Coffee was available at IRs.50.00. We were pleasantly surprised when shops and hotels beyond the Airport accepted Indian Rupees for services rendered, security deposits and for purchases.  We could pay in Indian Rupees at diverse locations on our visit to Pattaya and Bangkok  

We were proud  Indian Rupee had gained strength. It was an image make over. It showed India and Indians could no longer be taken lightly.

The current dip in the value of Indian Rupee against US Dollar is transient. We have experienced first hand the respect India and the Indian Rupee command abroad. Indians are travelling abroad in droves. . They are everywhere. Their purchasing power is unlimited.   The hosts welcome them. Indian Rupee can never be denied its place in the financial markets of the world. 

RARE COLLECTION OF BOOKS AND MAGAZINES

Mrs. Susan Thomas, Karimpil, TC 17/2037, Poojapura, Trivandrum - 695012, Kerala, India holds several copies of THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS that describe Second World War in poignant pictures. The issues date back to the period 1940 - 1945. As she has to shift her residence soon she intends to sell the antique issues reluctantly.  Since what is on sale is priceless she proposes to part with her rare collection at Rs. 10000.00 per single issue.

In addition to the magazine she holds a rare collection of books on different topics. She  proposes to sell them on a first come first serve basis at reasonable rates. It is requested that those interested may contact Mrs. Susan Thomas at her address.

VIRENDER SEHWAG

What makes Virender Sehwag click?

1. Never rue missed chances, create more opportunities.
2. Never play to the galleries.
3. Common sense is instinct. Plenty of it is genius.
4. Immense self belief makes one patient.
5. What is madness is method for genius.
6. When Sehwag bats, even the opposition enjoys it.

What is good for Virender Sehwag is good for every one. 

BACKBENCH PHILOSOPHY

I grew up in a society that believed in backbench philosophy. In plain terms it means one has to remain at the back benches all the time. It has its own advantages. You are not noticed in any gathering. It lets you slip away at the earliest. It ensures that you do not have to open your mouth or express your views at all. It guarantees that you do not have to take any decision or take any kind of decisive action that may ensnare you in controversies, setbacks or failures. You will always remain a non achiever; but you will somehow survive. You are content to be the number two.

The philosophy has become a way of life for the larger society in Kerala. Wherever we are we can observe that a few rows of seats at the front remain unoccupied.  The prodding of the organizers of the meet falls into deaf ears. People stay rooted to the backbenches. They know very well that they would be noticed if they are closer to the podium and if they are noticed some unsolicited responsibilities may be thrust upon them. It implies that you may have to volunteer and exert yourselves for tasks that shower no visible benefits upon you.

While I had been in the Schools and Colleges it was imperative to fall in line with the majority and practice the art of staying at the backbenches to perfection.  The moment teachers came into the class vacant seats at the front rows welcomed them.  It required much coercion and a lot of tact by teachers to make at least a few students leave the comforts of backbenches to proceed to the front. The fortunate ones avoided eye contact with the teachers and managed to stay back. They   pitied the few who were forcibly led up. They knew it would be eventual slaughter as the teachers would direct all questions and obviously their ire at the front benchers.  Those who could not fathom the answers were vehemently and summarily dealt with.   To be precise there were very few students who satisfied the queries of the teachers.   There was safety at the backbenches and those at the back virtually remained oblivious of the close scrutiny up ahead.

The Church I attend has a strange feature. The pews in front are left alone for the late comers. Early birds take the seats at the back. Naturally there is a big commotion when late comers move up to the front in search of seats even as the worship progresses. It upsets the serenity It violates the sanctity. 

People learn quite a lot from childhood, Schools, Colleges and work stations. It stays with them throughout their lives.  If we take a look at the visuals of meetings on television or still photographs in magazines and newspapers it is obvious that the front rows are vacant on most occasions. It beats me why as a race we are diffident. Perhaps backbenches offer unmatched security to the hesitant.  Raise a question; you get no reply let alone an acknowledgement. People act as if they are stone deaf. It has been grounded into our psyche that we hold back all the time and furnish space to others.

Backbench philosophy has cost us dearly. We have an embedded feeling that we are not good enough to take the front seats. Faced with serious competition we are never able to move up to the top. Our self consciousness makes us wait for someone else to initiate the proceedings. We define that modesty calls for a subdued presence. We are subdued in the bargain.  We do float. We do make money. But very few of us are outstanding achievers.  Despite the high literacy rate of Kerala, we are unable to establish ourselves effectively in the competitive environment. It indeed is a paradox.

CANCER FAILS TO SUBDUE TENACIOUS MAMTA MOHANDAS, ACTOR - AS SHE TALKS TO P ANIMA AND AS SHEVLIN SEBASTIAN WRITES ON HER INTENSE FIGHTBACK

The post is based on  two articles ‘SUNSHINE once again’ in The Hindu Metroplus Weekend from Thiruvananthapuram on 10.12.2011 and 'BIG BOSS of Malayalam Cinema' in The New Sunday Express Magazine  from Thiruvananthapuram on 25.11.2012. Quotes are from the articles.

Mamta Mohandas, successful Malayalam Cine Actor  speaks candidly on her battle with lymphoma. She was 26 when the diagnosis shattered her placid life. She admitted it was tough to pull herself together once she knew what had hit her. “ Initially, like anyone ranting about a so- called terminal disease, I felt, ‘Why me?’” Later, the way I battled it, I said to myself," Thank God, it was me.”

“The grueling days of treatment, radiation etc, are still a fresh memory.  If I am relapsing, I will be scared. I want to live happily. But when there is no other choice, one fights to survive.”

“When you go through a “Is this going to be it?” moment, you learn to enjoy everything – food, sunlight and each shot you give”

The actor moves on with tenacity. She looks forward to her wedding on 28.12.2011 with Prajith, a Bahrain based businessman.

Shevlin Sebastian writes on 25.11.2012.

There was a time when Mamta was screaming, but it was in shock and sadness. On June 21, 2010, she was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma, a cancer of the lymph nodes. Fortunately, for her, it was at stage 2B. "When I initially heard it, I cried and cried," she says, " I asked God, 'Why me?' Because I am an only child, my mother was going mad with sorrow."

Mamta grew up in Bahrain. She is feisty, intelligent and charming.

The good news for Mamta was when the doctors said the cancer was curable. She began chemotherapy at Apollo Speciality Hospital at Chennai and it lasted for seven months. "Today my cancer is not in complete remission," she says. So Mamta has to do check-ups often. But,at the same time, she has been having an intense film career. It was a scintillating performance in the Malayalam movie 'Katha Thudarunnu.' There are several others as well.

Her attitude has changed because of her cancer. "Life is precious," says Mamta. "It makes you realise that relationships, time, the air you breathe, the sun that you see in the morning, all things in nature, everything has to be deeply appreciated. The illness has ignited a hunger for life and to act my best."

Cancer is an ailment that stuns the patient and relatives alike. There is no escape. The afflicted undergoes  trauma with trepidation. It is despondency for any normal person. We have to admire Mamta Mohandas for her courage.

We wish her the very best in the life ahead. May the Almighty shower choicest blessings upon her. 

N H 17 NATIONAL HIGHWAY OF WOES KARWAR MANGALORE

It was early in October 2011 we decided to visit our aunt staying at Honavar, Karnataka. As travel by train alone was comfortable to traverse the distance we checked the web for availability of tickets for the onward and return journey.  We found that tickets were available only to Karwar from Thiruvananthapuram and back on the dates we proposed to travel. Though it was 100 KM from Karwar Railway Station to Honavar we opted for the arrangement out of sheer necessity.

It was midnight when the train halted at Karwar. Sadanand, auntie’s driver, was waiting for us at Karwar with her Maruti Omni. Though we had travelled between Karwar and Honavar several times we were in for a rude shock this time. Sadanand was negotiating the Omni through large craters on the road. We lost the number of times the vehicle landed in the craters with a sudden jerk throwing us off our seats. Unmindful of the hazards on the road Sadanand weaved his way through the craters and took us finally to auntie’s place at Honavar. We were happy when the ordeal ended and we thanked God for keeping us safe.  It was one of the toughest trips we have ever made and it took two days for our aching limbs to get back to shape. 

While at Honavar we paid a visit to Murdeshwar.    The beach and the facilities there were grand.  The journey was as bad as our trip from Karwar. Sadanand told us that the road from Karwar to Mangalore had been in  bad shape for a very long time. Repairs were inadequate.  Just as travel was harmful for travellers, the vehicles too encountered costly repairs.

As we related our experience on the road   to our friends at Honavar, they concurred with Sadanand. According to them NH 17 had become National Highway of  Woes as a result of the movement of trucks carrying Ore  from Goa to Mangalore Port and  total neglect by the authorities.  We responded that we at Kerala had always been considering that road conditions were very bad in our State. We were blaming the authorities for not carrying out repairs in time even as they were doing a good job in comparison with their Karnataka counterparts.

We thanked our stars that we were residents of Kerala where National Highways and all other roads were in a much better shape than NH 17 in Karnataka.

COLONEL HILL HONAVAR

Colonel Hill is in Honavar. Honavar is Honnavara. Honavar is Honnavar. Honavar is a peaceful and panoramic costal town in the district of Uttara Kannada (formerly North Canara) in Karnataka, India. It is a Taluk(Taluka) Head Quarters.

Colonel Hill is the tallest point in Honavar. A column erected in memory of Major General Clement Hill stands atop the hill. History speaks to us through a tablet at the base of the column. Time has erased a few letters on the tablet.  The historical monument is unprotected and a part of it has been vandalized. The inscription reads, “ This column is erected by the 14^th Madras Native Infantry A Guard of which Regiment in escorting to their final Earthly resting place The remains of Major General Clement Hill Had The sad duty of paying the last honours ……… active military life. Won the love of every officer And Man with whom he served He died at The Falls of Gairsuppah on the 20^th of January 1845 in the………….His age …. whole……… The Mysore Division”

It is history that Major General Clement Hill was laid to rest atop the hill.  The aerial view of Honavar and surrounding villages from top of the hill is glorious. Arabian Sea with fishing boats and ships on the move and Sharavati River on its final leg bifurcated from the sea by a narrow strip of land full of Coconut and Areca nut trees on the west coast of India describe how nature has blessed the land and the people. Turn east and enjoy the stunning glimpse of the Western Ghats where rain forests abound with its varied flora and fauna.

At some point of time the hill top,  final resting place of late Major General Clement Hill became Colonel Hill.   People of Honavar now call it Karnel Hill. The makeover in 166 years is amazing.

I had first visited Honavar in 1972.  The column atop the hill looked an abandoned structure. There were no steps up the hill. The terrain was barren and the surface rocky. It was an adventure climbing the hill and I was doing it three or four times a week during 1972-73. Hills were always a passion for me and I loved the adventure.  Though I had left the place in 1973 I had made it a point to visit Honavar whenever I could. I found a Children’s Park coming up there in one of my visits. It was a project of the Rotary Club of Honavar.  Our children enjoyed the ride down the slide and the see- saw. We had a wonderful time going up and down the hill every day. The Rotary Club went on with the development of the hill. Steps were built for effortless climb. Seedlings of trees were planted for greening the rocky terrain. Though no water was available there the plants were watered incessantly. The memorial column was badly in need of repairs. The repairs were undertaken and the column was given a fresh coat of paint to withstand ravages of weather. We heard that as the workers reached the top they found an eagle’s nest. Scared of the men the eagle had flown abandoning its chick. The Rotarians were a compassionate lot and one of them took the chick home, looked after it till it grew up and set it free when it could look after itself.

I had observed that the seedlings were nurtured well during my visits to Honavar. I visited the place last in October 2011. I was pleasantly surprised to find a garden with trees up the hill where rocky terrain had been taunting people for long.  Colonel Hill has now been transformed to a beautiful park. The park is full of trees that offer shade to visitors. There are two approaches to Colonel Hill. We can drive and reach the gates of the park or we can climb the steps and reach the top. A magnificent spectacle awaits us.  .

Honavar is 200 KM from Mangalore, 60 KM from Gersoppa and Jog Falls, 200 KM from Hubli and Dharwad, 90 KM from Karwar where Indian Navy has their project Sea Bird and 150 KM from Goa. One night’s journey by Bus separates it from both Bangalore and Mysore. The place was part of Bombay State before the reorganization of states in India. River Sharavati flows into Arabian Sea at Honavar. There are two bridges in Honavar across Sharavati River. The road bridge 1.6 Km long is on NH 17 and the railway bridge 2 Km long is on the Konkan Railway. Honavar has a Railway Station, but the railway line is invisible in Honavar. Perhaps Honavar will be the sole town in India where residents are unable to see the railway track and the train.  As the train from Mangalore crosses the bridge and moves over to Honavar the track enters a tunnel 2 Km long.  The train passes Honavar Town through the tunnel and   as it comes out it reaches Honavar Station situated at Karki, a village on the outskirts of Honavar. The bridges link Honavar and Kasarakod. Kasarakod has a fourishing Fishing Harbour. Honavar has a Bundar where one can buy fish from the country crafts. We get varieties of fish at the Bundar. Fresh water fish from Sharavati and fish from Arabian Sea are on offer.

Colonel Hill with its ancient monument steadfastly guarding the remains of late Major General Clement Hill survives in obscurity in an obscure town. History does not fade nor can be wished away.  Colonel Hill indeed is a bonanza to the discerning traveller who trek it to Honavar.

POTHYS THIRUVANANTHAPURAM – HAPPY SHOPPING

If you are in Thiruvananthapuram Pothys offers a wonderful experience. I remember my visit to Pothys, Tirunelveli a few years ago. We went there because many of our friends had been going there. They were telling us that the textile shop was offering textiles at comparatively cheaper prices. We did buy a few items and felt that our friends were right. That was a one off experience.

When we had settled at Trivandrum (the name was changed later) we found to our dismay that the textile shops were offering very poor service. The salesman would remain rooted to one place and would order us to show the particular piece we desired to buy. Then he would place that on the counter and look elsewhere. If we had dared to ask him to show another piece he would display his irritation vehemently. Then Parthas opened their shop. People flocked to the shop because the salesmen prodded by the Managing Partner were proactive. One had to push and jostle for space during the festival season to buy from the shop.

Meanwhile people from Trivandrum pushed off  to Kottayam, Ernakulam, Trichur, Tirunelveli, Nagercoil and even Chennai whenever they wanted to buy in bulk and whenever they looked for quality. Realising the large potential of Trivandrum business houses gradually started setting shop here. All the shops were having a good time. Pothys, Thiruvananthapuram is the latest entrant.

Pothys has thrown up a real challenge to its competitors. Everything that one may require is in  place. It is a misnomer to call it a shop. It is a mall. It is in fact the first shopping mall in Thiruvananthapuram. It has parking in two floors in the cellar. Then it is a riot of shops with centralized air conditioning.  Escalators, lifts, and stair cases take you from floor to floor. Groceries, Provisions, fruits and every other requirement of a house hold are available at the floor above the car park.  Dipayan Baishya Kishore Biyani  has written in his book 'It Happened In India' on the establishment of  ‘Big Bazar’ that Indians prefer to touch and feel  rice, pulses etc before buying them He had deliberately kept such items in open bins to satisfy the Indian customer. The concept is followed systematically here. If you are purchasing from the shops in the upper levels coupons offering substantial discounts are presented to you for shopping at the store. There is a hitch. The coupons are valid only for the day.

We bought some dresses and strolled through all the levels. Though it was a Sunday morning all the levels were crowded. We found cleaning workers mopping the floor everywhere. The management, it seemed, has made it an ongoing affair to keep the place neat and clean. We felt we were in a shopping mall  or a duty free shopping arcade in a sprawling air port terminal abroad. The similarity does not end there. The mall is a one stop shop where one can shop for all  requirements. It is a very pleasant experience. It is an experience people of Thiruvananthapuram have never had before.  Pothys has indeed thrown up a challenge to its competitors. Pothys has  redefined shopping in Thiruvananthapuram.

MURDER OF ENGLISH

I grew up in Kerala, India at a time the medium of instruction in Schools was predominantly Malayalam, the official language of the state. I am happy that I was born here. I am proud of my language and its rich heritage.

The teachers taught us pronunciation of the English words in Malayalam. ‘Auto’ was ‘Ahtto’, Mall was ‘Mahll’, Australia was ‘Ahstreilia’, Austria was ‘Ahstria’ and like wise almost all English words had their own special pronunciation in Malayalam. There was a teacher in English who taught us Leopard as ‘Lee-oh-pard’. We never thought that such words were spoken differently all over the world and that our state was the sole exception. We never thought we were wrong. The newspapers in Malayalam too kept to the same pattern. Literacy being very high in Kerala people happily followed the restructured pronunciation the news papers conveyed. It is said newspapers have a big role in the formation of public opinion. What is unsaid is that news papers in Malayalam or the vernacular have a big role in the teaching of pronunciation of English and other languages.

When I had to move out of Kerala for higher studies and later on  employment I found to my dismay I was in the wrong most of the time in the pronunciation of English words.  People used to poke fun at me for the aberration at my back. The information percolated to me slowly. I still remember the two girls in Karnataka who asked me to articulate the number’72’. I happily responded, sevendy two. They commented that this was how they picked out the Malayalis. According to them Malayalis had  ‘Malayalified’ English and  erred in their  accent  on many occasions.  They taught me that it had to be ‘seventy two’ with the stress on ‘t’. That was indeed a learning experience. It made me keep a dictionary ‘Daniel Jones’ that laid stress on spoken English with me all the time. 

The advent of English medium schools in Kerala has corrected the lacuna to some extent. But a lot more remains undone. The deficiency affects Keralites who migrate to other states in India and to foreign countries mostly in search of employment. They are not able climb up the hierarchy due to the manner in which they express themselves in English.  Sometimes their job prospects disappear on this count. If you are on a visit abroad it is certain you will find it very difficult to make others understand what you are speaking about.  When English is the universal language of the world no matter whether we like it or not, all the people except Keralites are unhappy with the spoken English of Keralites.

Finishing schools in all the towns and villages may help us tackle the challenge to a great extent. Newspapers in Malayalam may chip in avoiding a different or dual pronunciation in their daily issues and periodicals. The fraternity of teachers too may take it upon themselves the duty of correcting their students. When awareness is built up on the live yet hidden issue resolution is not far.

NOT BAD

‘Kuzhappamilla’ is a word very common in Malayalam. There will not be a Malayali who does not frequently indulge in this word. ‘Kuzhappamilla’ is ‘Not Bad’ in English. Malayalam is the language of the southern state of Kerala in India. Malayali is one who speaks Malayalam. I am a Malayali.

I have often wondered at the usage of the word by  people. It begins  from morning and lasts till the moment we go to sleep. As one gets up in the morning a question is put to him, “Did you have a good night's sleep?” Instead of a straight ‘Yes” or ‘No’ ‘Kuzhappamilla’ is blurted out. Then it is the breakfast. It is ‘Kuzhappamilla’ again.

Once you are at your work place, School, College or when you are travelling you can hear this word from each and every one you come across. The lesson is  ‘Kuzhappamilla’, the performance in the examination is ‘Kuzhappamilla’,   your  new dress is ‘Kuzhappamilla’,  the work that you have completed with great effort is ‘Kuzhappamilla’ and the excellent food you have had is ‘Kuzhappamilla’. There is no end to it.

I searched for the meaning of the word. I found that it means ‘Not Bad’. I started wondering why something good is described as ‘Not Bad’. Though ‘Not Bad’ is nothing but good it is very difficult to prise out the word ‘Good’ from the Malayali. The explanation I could garner is that people are reluctant to call a spade a spade. People are not prepared to accept or acknowledge what they find good in others. They feel it a cardinal sin to speak well of anything in the world. The student blurts out ‘Not Bad’ on the examination he has taken because he is afraid what people will think of him in case the result is adverse. In a world where selection is through elimination the chances of success and failure are almost equal. ‘Kuzhappamilla’ comes out frequently to forestall an adverse result or an adverse comment or opinion by the majority.

If we probe further we can see that the mindset of the people is largely responsible for the expression. People feel they are infallible. People feel their opinion matters a lot in all that happens around them. They are highly self conscious. They feel the world is looking at them and they cannot afford to fail. When success and failure are two sides of a coin and when the coin is tossed up high people do crave to be on the winning side all the time.  ‘Kuzhappamilla’ is nothing but escapism from reality. It is putting off the inevitable indefinitely. ‘Kuzhappamilla’ circumvents issues.

Is it apt to skirt issues that explode on us with the expression “Kuzhappamilla”? Our attitude definitely determines our personality. You can either be positive or negative. You cannot at once be both.

The escapist approach on issues has prevented the Malayali from viewing them in the right perspective. The outcome is obvious.  It will be nothing but ‘Kuzhappamilla’ forever. And it prevents us reach heights that are attainable if only one stretches the effort bit by bit. It prevents us from realizing our dreams. The aggression in us is curbed and we never reach for the sky.

Success goes to those who dare.  

REVOLUTION 2020 CHETAN BHAGAT REVIEW

Chetan Bhagat has mesmerized me through his creative writing. I have read all his books. They are wonderful. The language is superb and is handled with dexterity.  The context is Indian. The characters are all Indians. The stories are in sync with our people and the happenings around us.

‘Revolution 2020’ is the latest from Chetan Bhagat. The story revolves around triangular love and the frustration of the one who lost out at the end. The build up is terrific. There is a corrupt politician. The rot in the current system of education is well documented. The struggle of the middle class and the lower class to attain success shakes us. There is a sub plot. Raghav publishes a newspaper. It reminded me of the epic struggle in 'Northern Light' by A.J.Cronin. Quite unlike 'Northern Light' Raghav gives up when adversity strikes him. The author somehow lost his bearings towards the end.  He could not sustain the crescendo. The story ends with a whimper. The conclusion is rudderless and is a poor cousin to the beginning and the middle that are forceful.

‘Revolution 2020’ is a very good attempt to project the helplessness of the average Indian. The relentless onslaught of corruption and unfair practices that has vitiated his life is portrayed well.  ‘Revolution 2020’ would have been revolutionary if the author had worked on the conclusion like his earlier creations.

BANGKOK - HORRENDOUS VISA ON ARRIVAL

The flight landed at Suvarnabhumi International Airport, Bangkok at 6:25 AM on 13^th September 2011.  It took 3:30 hours from Colombo. On board the service was superb and we felt relaxed and refreshed     We had earlier been through Bangkok twice.  We were travelling to Hong Kong and Beijing and back to Colombo.  As we did not have a Visa for Thailand at that time we had to sweat it out in the aircraft till it  took off. Bangkok was impressive from the air. Glancing through the windows we had found the terminal sprawling  Awaiting the take off we were dreaming of strolling through the terminal and of a holiday in Bangkok. The dream took  some time to turn real and we were on the threshold of fulfillment.

International flights though very pleasant and comfortable, entail check in three hours prior to  take off.  The passengers have to forgo sleep as majority of flights are scheduled for night. Though it saves on accommodation and the day for the passengers on short haul, it is exacting.

We had reported at Bandaranaike International Air Port, Colombo at 10.30 PM on 12^th September 2011. Security was tight. Footware, Belt, Watches, Pens, Coins and Cell Phones had to be taken off and subjected to scanning before we passed through the metal detector and the physical search. Hot meal was served after the flight took off at 1:25 AM.  We managed to catch some sleep before our arrival at Bangkok.

We were at the Terminal after a hectic night. As the Visa fee had to be paid in Baht, local Currency, we had to spend some time at the Currency Exchange. We could never anticipate what awaited us. A big crowd of international travellers with Indians forming the majority were at the immigration counter. There were two counters. One counter was Fast Track where one had to pay 1200 Bahts for quick clearance. The other counter was the normal one where the fee was 1000 Bahts. Two officials (women) each were assigned to both counters. Though the Fast track had one line only it moved fast as both the officials were handling the passengers efficiently. Passengers, instead of forming the line likewise formed six lines at the normal counter. Thai officials did not bother to regulate the lines. The milling crowd became restive. Thai officials were shouting at the passengers to form two lines only. They stopped processing the visa applications for a while.  They refused to issue Visas until the passengers merged the six lines to two lines. No one listened. We were at the back. Passengers were pushing, prodding and jumping the queue, Indian style.  We could see some officials taking photographs of the crowd. One official shouted at the passengers to go back to their countries.  In the melee we found some who were at the back taking places ahead of us. Finally it took four and a half hours for us to obtain our Visas. It took three hours and thirty minutes only to reach Bangkok from Colombo. We were fed up with the horrendous system that prevailed at Bangkok.  We had never been to a place where tourists were ill treated like at Bangkok and where the officials shouted rudely at the tourists to go back to their countries. It was the job of officials at the Airport to organize adequate measures to disperse fast the assembly of passengers discharged from three or four flights that had landed one after the other. We had experienced a similar situation at Beijing when we had been there. The officials were alive to the situation. They formulated emergency measures to speedily handle the large number of passengers. There was no confusion. We did not have to wait  in the line for long hours like we were forced to at Bangkok.

The Thai officials treated travelers of different nationalities alike. On one occasion while we were crossing over to Egypt from Israel, the Egyptian officials were clearing visitors from USA and Europe ahead of Asians.  We had felt bad about the discrimination.

It was with trepidation we approached the immigration counter on our return. It surprised us when the clearance took only a minute. We felt the Thais deliberately delayed the issue of Visas on arrival to force the passengers to shift to the Fast track where they could net 200 Bahts more from the tourists. Indeed an admirable promotion of tourism worth emulating !! Beware when you visit Thailand!!!

ORDEAL OF PEDESTRIANS

We stay in Thiruvananthapuram, the capital city of Kerala State in India. We have travelled to a number of destinations both in India and abroad. The city was not busy when we set up residence here. We infer from our travels that Thiruvananthapuram is on the threshold of breaking out into a metro city in a short time.

One major deficiency the city has is the abject neglect of the pedestrian. The pedestrian does not have a foot path on all roads. Even if  foot paths are there,  they are usurped by   street hawkers and petty shops in many localities. Beggars too had occupied the space at one point of time. Fortunately they have disappeared. 

The number of vehicles on the roads is ever on the increase. Inadequacy of public transport and dearth of a metro railway have forced the public to have their own transport for mobility. The confusion on the roads is unimaginable. It is apparent a bustling city will have a very large number of pedestrians. No one thinks about them. They are forced to negotiate the roads along with the vehicles that race past them. The most difficult part is when it comes to crossing the roads. It is impossible to cross the roads when traffic is heavy. There is no let up in traffic most of the time and people risk their lives many times a day as they cross the roads. Some people perish and some are injured in the imbroglio.

We have observed that there are options in the form of underground passages or foot over bridges for the pedestrians to cross the roads in many places we have visited. At some places the over bridges had escalators too whereby excessive exertion by public had been circumvented.

We have always wondered why we are denied  simple world class facilities in Thiruvananthapuram. The story in other parts of the state is no different. Bursting at seams all the cities and towns of Kerala endure in silence what Thiruvananthapuram undergoes.

It is not that no one is aware of the pedestrians and their misery, but it is that no one is interested in mitigating the ordeal. We look to a day the pedestrian can safely negotiate the roads. We look to a day over bridges and under passages are introduced wherever the traffic is heavy so that  pedestrians do not have to risk and lose their lives crossing the roads. Thiruvananthapuram and other cities and towns in Kerala will look for the better with the arrival of  simple world class facilities.

EXPERIENCE AT THIRUVANANTHAPURAM INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

It was our first trip after the commissioning of the new terminal at the Thiruvananthapuram International Airport. The terminal is definitely an improvement on the terminal at the other end of the Airport. The authorities have made a serious effort to bring it to international standards. Aerobridges save the passenger from the vagaries of the weather as they board and disembark. The terminal is nowhere when it is compared with Changi, Hongkong, Beijing, Bangkok or Dubai. We are happy that at least a beginning has been initiated.

Immigration was very quick when we passed through the barrier. The official was very thorough as he went through the passports and documents. Incisive questions were raised. But they were not offensive. He even joked as he cleared the documents and wished us bon voyage.  It was a welcome shift from our earlier travels where the officials maintained a stiff upper lip and looked at every one with suspicion.

Our journey took us to Bangkok via Colombo. Except for confusion over the issue of visa on arrival at Bangkok clearances at both the airports were quick and hassle free. On our return clearances were faster. The officials at all the counters were courteous. They were helpful.

The experience on our return to Thiruvananthapuram International Airport left us with mixed emotions. Immigration was quick.  The travails began after that. Once through the immigration counter, there were five or six counters, all the passengers had to converge and pass through single exit where an official with a very suspicious face stopped us. He was there to confirm whether the passports were properly stamped by the official at the counter. While he took his time to do the verification passengers were forced to crowd in the limited space. It was a bit ridiculous as we were exposing our distrust of our own capable officials before the international travellers.

As we went on to claim the baggage we were asked to put our hand baggage through a scanner. Different countries have different laws and customs. We have traveled to a number of countries. We have never experienced such a scanning as we were making the exit.

The baggage was delivered through the conveyor quick. There were no porters to irritate the passenger. On our way out we spotted a duty free shop where we paused to pick up a packet of chocolates. As we finally pushed the trolley to the exit a Police Officer stopped us. Thinking that he wanted to verify the baggage tag, we showed him the tags. He said, “No, Passports.” (No ‘please’ we were used to at airports abroad). The passports were handed over. He rifled through the   passports and took out a slip of paper detached from the arrival card by the immigration official. He handed me my passport and commanded, “Get it.” I did as I was told. He said the slip of paper had to be filled up and led us to a counter where a lady official in white uniform sat. He asked us to fill them up and hand them over to the lady. Obviously it was our fault. As we had  filled up the arrival card in the aircraft we had omitted to fill up the last part where we were supposed to write our name and the flight number. When we handed the slips to the Officer she told us to hand them over to the Police Officer who had ordered us to fill them up. Taking the slips from us he allowed us to move on to the exit. I stole a look at the ID the Police Officer sported. It read, “Expiring on 09.09.2011.”  It was interesting that our return was on 18.09.2011.

The Police Officer was doing his duty. We were in the wrong as there was an omission on our part. But as we were filling up the slip of paper we found many other passengers moving out without any one stopping them to verify their passports.

We are not blaming any one. What we cannot understand is that as we were passing through airports abroad such procedures were not in evidence. No officials were there to confirm the officials were performing their duty well. There were no slips of paper detached from the arrival card and no security personnel to stop us once we were through customs and immigration. It beats us why the arrival card should have a detachable format that serves no purpose at all in a totally computerized environment. There was no scanning of hand baggage. The procedure needs simplification. We have to ensure that the visitors to India return to their countries with pleasant memories. Tourism is a money spinner for all countries. We are fine tuning it to offer the worst.

PUTHEN MALIGA PALACE MUSEUM THIRUVANANTHAPURAM

Puthen Maliga Palace Museum,  Thiruvananthapuram is an imposing  monument adjacent to Sree Padmanabhaswamy Temple that hogs limelight these days  due to the invaluable treasure discovered in its vaults.    The stunning palace, known earlier as Kuthira Maliga,  was built as the official residence of Swathi Thirunal Maharaja of the erstwhile princely state of Travancore. The construction of the palace took four years. Swathi Thirunal stayed there for one year. He was a great musician. He passed away at a very young age. Considered as unlucky due to the premature demise of Swathi Thirunal, the palace never had another occupant. It is an eighteen and a half acre compound where there are two more palaces that were built for the princes of Travancore.  No one stays there either.  A trust administers the property.

A few years ago Kuthira Maliga was converted as Puthen Maliga Palace  Museum where artifacts, paintings, porcelain and priceless treasures of the Travancore era are displayed. The museum is open all days except Mondays from morning till evening. Though I have been residing in Trivandrum for a long time, I could not visit the museum earlier. The visit was worthwhile. I have been to a large number of places in India as well as abroad where artifacts and precious treasures from a bygone era are displayed for the visitors. Puthen Maliga is a revelation. I feel proud that what is on display here is far superior to what I have seen elsewhere.

The wood work in the palace is remarkable. The precision is unimaginable. The artwork on the ceilings differs from room to room. There are full size portraits of the rulers of Travancore. There are paintings by Europeans. When photography was not in existence events were frozen in time through paintings. A painting caught my  attention by the  brutality evinced. It was the Pulikkoodu (Cage of leoaprds). It was a circular cage on the Sanghumugham Beach, adjacent to the indoor court with  high roof. Indian Coffee House functions from a part of the building at present. The painting depicts a few leopards devouring prisoners sentenced to death in the presence of a large assembly of citizens and the militia. There is no trace of  the Pulikkoodu at Sanghumugham today.

The weaponry of the Travancore army is on display confirming its might.  There are beautiful porcelain vessels gifted to the royalty by visitors from abroad. Large imported mirrors adorn the walls. There is a medicinal cot. Different pieces of antique furniture are exhibited.  Two dressing tables displayed in adjacent rooms are unique. There are the musical instruments, the perumpara (drums to proclaim royal dictats), Crystal Throne and Wooden Throne. Beautiful statues of Gods   are on display. Two ivory cradles displayed are the icing on the cake. I have never seen such a luxury anywhere else. The gun captured from the Dutch Captain Delenoi at Kolachel is prominent by its rarity. It reminds in abundance the greatness of the legendary Marthanda Varma. 

There are halls for music recitals and for meetings of scholars. Swathi Thirunal wrote Keerthans in eighteen languages sitting in an elevated room with a window through which he could view the top of the Sree Padmanabha Temple.  The  Keerthans were inspired by the presiding deity of the temple, Sree Padmanabha Swamy. As I looked through the window I could see the top of the temple very close.

The magnificent palace has two floors. . All the rafters have a horse’s head crafted at the end acquiring the name Kuthira Maliga (Palace of Horses) for the Palace.  There is a Guest House in front of the Palace called Thekkini. Thekkini was built to accommodate the European Guests.  Every year Swathi Thirunal music festival is held at the Palace grounds for a week.

Though I was really impressed by the Palace and the Museum, its maintenance is very poor. The hedges are not trimmed. Grass is not mown. The rooms where the exhibits are kept are poorly lit. The visitors are led through the museum by an official guide who is poorly trained.  He is proficient in Malayalam alone. There is no commitment.  He gives the impression that he detests the job he is doing. He is not proactive.  Having seen guides in various parts of the world and after listening to them, I feel what is on offer here is the worst one can ever have in the world.  Seventy five percent of the Palace is out of bounds for the visitors. It has to be thrown open. Photography and videography are strictly prohibited here. There is a world out there that permits the visitors all this to enable them savour their tryst with history. Lingering memories persuade the visitor to come again and again and spread the message the palace conveys across the world. Eighteen and a half acres of Palace grounds and all the  palaces can be thrown open to the Public after beautifying them. The Chinese are doing this with their palaces and the palace grounds in the old city. They make money in the bargain. Here relaxing behind archaic customs, archaic laws and chronic inactivity we are negating the efforts we make for promoting tourism. Tourism is not for foreigners alone. It is for our countrymen as well. Here is the opportunity for our people to learn of our rich heritage. We have no qualms in barring it. I look to a day when I can state with pride we maintain world standards in Thiruvananthapuram.

HERITAGE - OLDEST CHURCH IN TRIVANDRUM

CSI CHRIST CHURCH, Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India

Consecrated on 15^th November, 1859 Christ Church is the oldest Church in the city. An integral constituent of the Madhya Kerala Diocese of the Church of South India, Christ Church,  surrounded by the University Stadium and the Chandrasekharan Nair  stadium, is strategically located at Palayam in  Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India on the arterial Mahatma Gandhi Road on one end and  the Kerala Legislature Complex at the other.

For visitors to the Church, it is a glance into the past. They find history unfurling before them. The ancient tombs in the cemetery speak volumes on members of the Church who had moved over to strange new territories and had perished in an alien terrain.  The architecture of the Church is majestic. Anticipation turns into amazement as you enter the Church.  Well preserved antique furniture and invaluable paintings as well as pictures on the windows   faithfully serve the worshippers as they join together in the name of Jesus Christ, a tradition carried down all these one hundred and fifty two years of existence of Christ Church. The aisle and the pews make you kneel and pray to the omnipresent and the omnipotent who bestows love and affection upon the whole of mankind. 

The chiming of the tubular bell that dates back to 1915 is the precursor to the worship at the Church. The mood is still. The chiming has music in it and as it reverberates the hushed audience awaits the beginning of the divine worship. There are not many bells like it  in the world at the moment and Christ Church has in its possession a rare and wonderful object that has the stamp of history.

 Well preserved stained glass windows dating back to 1889 present a picture of serenity and piety as the worship progresses in the Church.   The beauty is unsurpassed

The portraits of Emperor Haile Celassie of Ethiopia and Rev. T.B.Benjamin, both great visionaries, adorn the Centennary Hall of Christ Church.. The visit of the Emperor to Christ Church was  historical. The Emperor in order to commemorate it made a handsome donation and laid the foundation for the Centenary Hall. The project took off with the donation  and the Centenary Hall became a reality with contributions pouring in from members whose names are inscribed on its walls. Centenary Hall has seen many events of significance taking place in it. Today, the Kerala Legislature Complex and the Centenary Hall face each other.

Elegantly displayed in the glass walled museum,  the hearse – coffin bearing carriage – is a sight to behold. The ancient mingles with the present. The hearse, imported from the United Kingdom, was in operation   till late 1960s. 

Connect, Grow, Serve and Go define Christ Church’s dedicated vision and  mission.

Connect   

‘Connect’ with God for a momentous existence.  Mark: 12: 29-31 tells  to connect with an open heart. It reminds that building enduring relationships alone suffice. Connect highlights the significance of worship, prayer and fellowship.  The Church is the platform that links man at once with God and the community.

Grow  

‘Grow’ in body, mind and spirit (Romans 12:2). Discern God's word and gaze at the effect in an individual. Though knowledge is vital God’s word makes one perfect when it is animate in him.  The true disciple comes into being as he heeds God’s word.

Serve 

‘Serve’ with willing hands (1 Peter 4:10-11). It nourishes the soul. The church is packed with limitless opportunities to minister and serve.  When the constituents work together for the Church they function as God has intended. He empowers His followers to serve and multiplies their efforts exponentially.

Go

‘Go’ with ready feet (Matthew 28:19-20). It moves one out of the confines of the Church to a domain that spreads across the whole of the community and of the world. . Witnessing Jesus Christ before non believers as well as believers is the most challenging and demanding task a true Christian faces relentlessly. 

KERALA'S VILLAGE OFFICES SHUN COMPUTERS AND HARASS PEOPLE TO THE HILT

The Village Office plays a stellar role in the lives of Keralites. It is the arm of the Government that reaches out to people. For most of the people Government begins and ends with the Village Office. The services rendered there are at once basic and extensive. People do not require anything more from the Government in their normal lives.

If we hold title to land it is mandatory that land tax as per law is paid every year. Failure to remit the tax bars us from enjoying facilities extended by the Government. In the event of default Government has the right to take over the land.

I make a trip to the Village office every year to remit the tax. I recount my experience this year.

I reached the office at 10 A.M. No one was there. As I waited I observed that there were a few others who were playing the waiting game. The officials arrived at the office after some time. All of us went in. There was a queue. The official advised the individual at the head of the queue that he would have to wait if had come to remit the tax. Then he took the cell phone and rang up some one. We could hear him conveying to the person at the other end to come to the office and do a cleaning up job in the office. He remarked to the other official in the office that unless the job was outsourced the office would never be clean.

The official disposed off the person at the head of the queue quickly, advising him that title to the property would be recorded only after 3.00 P.M. He looked at me. I showed him the receipts for the previous year and said that I had come to remit tax for current year. He said, “You have six receipts. It is a big job. Hand it to the official sitting next.”

I did not dare to tell him that it was the very same official who had directed me to present my case to him. It was back to square one. The official who had directed me elsewhere looked at me as I stood before him. “You have to hand it to the lady standing behind you.”

I turned around, saw the lady and handed over the receipts. She made a search, located the registers and placed the receipts and the registers on the official’s table. Then she repeated the procedure for the next person. The register was placed on top of the registers that contained my receipts. I did not object as objections would only delay the procedure and the officials might even stop the day’s collection stating that they faced a heavy workload. I recalled the experience the previous year. I had to trek it to the office three days in succession for the simple job. The first day the officials, as the serpentine queue reached midway, announced that they were stopping the collection for the day since they had other important work to attend to. We were advised to come the next day. The next day when I went there the officials were not there. We gathered that they had all gone to the collectorate to remit cash and there would be no collection on that day. Though I had to wait two hours in the queue I was lucky the third time.

Suddenly the official who had turned me back had a change of heart. “Give me a register. I will do some work,” he said. I felt unlucky as I found him taking the register on top. In the mean time I saw him reversing his earlier stance of attending to the recording of the title for another applicant. I thought the rules were dynamic at that office. One man was turned away and the other was entertained.

A Village Office always makes you learn and practice patience. I waited. I was gleeful when the official finally took hold of my receipts. He started writing. He opened the folio and compared the data in the previous year’s receipt with the data in the folio. He wrote out a receipt for the tax and returned the old receipt to me. He recorded some data on one folio. The collection of tax for the year was recorded in another folio. The process was repeated five times as I had six receipts with me altogether. The receipts I had with me belonged to different people. I was entrusted the job since the others did not have the time to squander. Finally I managed to extricate myself from the office with current year’s tax paid receipts.

While the official was going through the laborious process I felt it was high time the Village Offices were computerized in the State of Kerala. It would assist the officials efficiently carry out their functions. The State stands to gain too as it would dramatically improve the flow of funds to the exchequer that is always starved of funds for developmental and day to day expenditure. The productivity of the people also will improve as their turn around time is shortened enabling them conserve precious time for important activities.

As I had set apart the day for payment of dues to the Government and local bodies, I went over to the office of the local body to pay tax on the house. I had the shock of my life when the lady finished the job and handed me the receipt within a minute. She said," The office is computerized."

Woken up in the early hours

I had been cruising along contented. Altering the sedate lifestyle the authorities of CSI Christ Church, Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala, India threw a challenge.  I am a member there. They proposed to revitalize the Website of the Church. The Church’s Website, according to the Vicar, called for a thorough overhaul. The suggestion galvanized the authorities into frenzied activity. The challenge was thrown. A time frame was set. The quaint yet beautiful Church,  an architectural marvel consecrated on 15th November, 1859 is the oldest Church in the city.

Creativity calls for objectivity, enormous patience and inspiration. When I began I realized that the approach had to be on two levels, one, editing content that existed and the other, creation of content from exhaustive research. ‘www’ is an open window to the world. It emphasized that nothing shall deride the church.

Accomplishment of the objective brought compliments from the Vicar. I replied, “Grateful for the compliment. It was not me who did it. I was only the medium for God to express online what He wanted. He woke me up in the early hours, kept me awake, did not allow me to move away both physically and in mind and just made me sit in front of the system keeping the flow in mind and the thought process singularly devoted to the fruition of His desire.”

 

GOD ALONE CAN SAVE YOU IN KERALA

An, all pervading gloom. He lay gasping. Life was ebbing out. I sat next to him, holding his hands. Disoriented, I did not know what was around, let alone the impending doom hiding in the wings, to explode. I believed everything was fine. Gullible? I believed he was going to be well. Up and about. As exuberant as ever. For me, he was everything. I had depended on him so much. He held the key to all my queries.

‘Babychayan’, people generally called him.I addressed him, Papa.Yes, he was my father.

Chacko.He battled there, on that dusk.

It began five days from that moment. The bell rang. It was a call from Anna, one of my innumerous aunts. “Babychayan is ill. He has been admitted to a hospital at Kanghazha. He requires surgery at once. Babychayan wants it done at your place.” I was dumbstruck. It was only a week, I had left him sound. I had brought my family home to spend some time with him. We kept him company. The day marked the second year of the departure of Mom. The day that left him a widower. That left us stranded.

I needed money, leave and a substitute. A procrastinator, I found the role mind-boggling

The boss, with characteristic reluctance, provided a substitute. I hurried to Kangazha. Chandra financed. It was pathetic to find Papa in the hospital, immobilized by the catheter. Dr.V.Krishnan, wrote the discharge.

“Chacko requires surgery at once. He has an enlarged prostate. We are hopeful it’s benign.” The shock multiplied. Calamity. The night found the three of us, Ravi, my brother had joined us, at the railway station on an endless wait for a train that threatened to arrive at any moment. The journey through the night saw us at my place, the next morning.

“Shall I move? Do you need more room?” I put it to the doctor who came to observe the patient on the final moments. Blissfully, I was unaware of the gravity. “Be there. Hold on to his hands”, the kind doctor was grim. The spasms turned violent. The agony uncontrollable. . Papa remained unconscious. He opened his eyes. He was not aware of the bustle where he was the central figure. Key actor. The screens were placed quietly around the bed. It didn’t signify anything to me. The message was evident to the rest.

Alarmed, a sister brought in the oxygen. She drew the phlegm out. It was blocking the air. Nothing worked. The patient was a few seconds away from the moment of truth.The barrier. The thin line.

A host of doctors surrounded the bed. The hand that jerked violently all the time, began to show signs of abatement. He was going to be alright, I thought. There was dejection on the face of the doctors. “The heart has stopped.” “Artificial.” I was watching a live show unfolding.

.“ Cardiac arrest.” The shout. “Bring the apparatus.”

I was pushed back. The senior resident moved the clothes aside. With precision he was pounding the chest. A scene straight from a movie. With great difficulty, a tube was inserted through the mouth. Trachea. Once it was in place, they started squeezing. Each time it was pressed, the abdomen heaved. On release, it shrunk. Up. Down. Up. Down.

Pendulam.

“Why have you not put the patient on the ventilator?” barked the surgeon. He had performed the surgery with precision. The perfect surgeon. Safe pair of hands. Dr.Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Renowned. Reputed. “Sir, we don’t have the rank”, the doctors with respect.

“The stretcher.” It was a command.

The patient was at once wheeled back into the theatre from where he was brought out three hours earlier. In the morning, when they had requisitioned him for surgery, he had declined the stretcher. “I’ll walk.” He was in robust health but for the catheter. How fickle life is? One moment, you are wide-awake. Struggle for existence, the next. The greatest asset man has, is his ability to breathe. What a dry log he is, if he cannot.

There we were. We sat on the floor at the entrance to the theatre. Each, lost in thought. There was a flurry of activity. Doctors rushing in. Coming out. Nurses running around.

A cardiologist and a physician- high in hierarchy. No one knew the status of the patient. No one spoke to us. A forlorn feeling spread across. Despondency.

“Did Chacko, ever have Cardiac history?” the surgeon beckoned me. “Not to my knowledge.” “The ECG was absolutely perfect”, he continued, “His blood vessels are in bad shape. He may not survive beyond

10 P.M.” My spirits sank. It was 8.30 P.M. The physician came out. He confirmed the prognosis.

If Papa was going away, we, the living, had to look beyond. Though the patient was yet to give up, we had to think of the arrangements, once he was declared dead. Kunjukunju chettan, an uncle, rushed to the Newspaper. The item must be in the ensuing day’s circulation. An ambulance was needed to take the body, home. Thankachayan, another uncle, arranged it.

We huddled together at the exit. We were the losers. There was nothing to hold on to. Hope withered. We just could not even think of life ahead, without Papa.We were in a daze. We watched silently as the relatives organized ahead. Braced ourselves to accept the inevitable. Absorb the final blow.

I thought of Reshmi, our sister. I wondered how to get the matter across. There was no way to reach her. The pictures of our family, the happy days we had spent together, the day when I had disappointed him with a lousy academic record, the years I went without employment and could do nothing for the family when they were in dire straits, the vain struggle for Mom, the wild elephant on the highway when he was driving the car with all of us in it - the scenes and many others, vivid, flashed through.

“No, I won’t let him go”, I resolved.

The surgeon came out once again. It was 11 P.M. “The moment has not come”, he said, “the patient will not see the morrow.” He seemed dejected. I sat down. I started praying. In fact all of us there, went on praying. Silent prayers. Nothing else to clutch to.

A voice within me.

“If he lives on to 6 A.M and beyond the next morning, he is going to survive.”

I went on with my prayers. “Oh God, please don’t take him before 6 A.M, the next day. Give him just this night. Leave him to us. Please don’t take him.” Focussed, like a man possessed, I chanted through the night.

11.30 P.M. The driver of the Ambulance. “Sir, I have a trip right now. What shall I do?”

“Carry on with, what you have.” Response.Resigned. Kunjukunju Chettan ran to the newspaper. “Hold the news.” “Chacko is still alive. Hold it for the next day.”

The doctors poured in and out. The night went on. The hospital became a beehive of activity. It was the busiest hospital in the city. We watched victims of accidents, brought in. In a trance we saw stretchers, fully covered, pulled across.

Dawn. There was no word from the Theatre except that the patient was on the ventilator.

Tears rolled out from all of us. We could not stand the agony any more. The chanting, unhindered. Life, for the rest of the world, normal as ever.

None of us saw the Physician’s arrival. He came out at 8 A.M. “The patient has survived till this hour. He has not regained consciousness. He may survive. But in what form or mode, I can’t tell. He may not survive. It’s a cliff-hanger.

The Kaleidoscope.

I ask myself, “What went wrong?” Money. Avarice. Neglect. Deliberate. Callous disregard for human life. One lives by money alone. “You have no right to be alive, without money.” “Agony, if you do not pay.”
****
Armed with letter from the Hospital at Kanghazha, we met the Physician. It was addressed to him. “This requires surgical intervention. Please take him to the Surgeon at once.”

“Admit the patient,” the surgeon, “Surgery required immediately.” “Ward seven”, the assistants. We searched out the ward in that labyrinth. The sister was furious. “There are no beds here. Where am to put the patient? Get back to the Doctor and ask him to find a bed.” There was no sympathy. The patient was in discomfort. There was the added discomfiture. The bag. The ornament.

I left them both at the Ward and ran to the doctor. “No bed.” “Bed is there. Get back to the Ward. the sister will arrange.” It was 10.30 A.M. Alarmed, I retuned to the sister. Mad with rage, she shouted. “I don’t have any bed. Wait here. The doctor will come and provide. I wonder how he is going to source it, here.”

We waited. Papa sat on a stool, a kind soul had lent. One hour. Nothing happened. Another hour. We saw the surgeon and his assistants trooping in. They were quite busy. They had no time even to look at us. Three fugitives. Finally, I took courage. “Sir, no bed yet.” “Don’t worry. You’ll have the bed.” They went away.

The clock swung. It was 1 P.M. The assistants returned. We ran after them. One showed sympathy and concern. “I’ll do something.” “I’m hungry.” Papa was indeed hungry. He had had a harrowing time. Food did not matter to us. A place for the patient was our prime motive.

The surgeon came in again. “Sir, bed?” “Don’t worry. You’ll have it.” He went away.

4 P.M. The assistant called out. “Chacko.” You have bed. Number 35. Take it at once. Else someone else may have it.” The moment the bed was occupied, the sister took over. Temperature, blood pressure, medicines, chits for medicines. Tired, we went out for an untimely lunch. A packet was brought in for Papa.

Government Hospitals are always crowded. Specialists are available there. Nowhere else.

The facilities available are never utilized. Socialism has ushered in an era, where one gets paid for doing no work. The services are available elsewhere, at a price. Universal corruption. The way of life. All are equal. Everything is free.If you do not pay ‘ME’ nothing is available. You are shunned. Shunted.

Blood tests. X-rays. “Get it from ‘Roja’ clinic. Their results alone are dependable. Don’t go anywhere else. ECG too. But from ‘Shalini’ only.” “The patient is admited here. How do we do it?” “Don’t worry. Tell the sister. Get a taxi. Take him everywhere. But, for God’s sake get the results fast. Surgery cannot be delayed. Life is at stake.”

A novice, I have never paid any bribe till now. I do not know the art. Lack of expertise.

“Did you meet the sugeon?” Rajeevan, our neighbour. “Yes.” “I didn’t mean that. Have you paid him?” “No. What do you mean?” “If you want your father back well you must pay the surgeon his fee.” “Fee?” “The bribe.”“How much?” “Rs.150 is the current rate. Pay Rs.75 before and the rest on discharge.

I didn’t know where the surgeon stayed. Locating it, I went there with Rs.75.

Dr. Shyamsundar.P.S, MBBS, MS, MS, FRCS. Consulting time 4 P.M TO 7 P.M.

There was a big crowd. My turn came at 8.30 P.M. “What’s your problem? What brings you here?” He did not recognize me. “Chacko. The inpatient. Surgery”, I blurted out.I placed Rs.75 in an envelope on the table. A good Samaritan had taught me.Dr. Shyamsundar suddenly recognized me. “Yes. Yes. I remember. Don’t worry. Your father is safe in my hands.” There was a hearty laugh. Pleased, I returned to the hospital to keep Papa, company.

Wednesday. The surgery was listed for the next day. Forms to be filled. Investigations.

More trips to the clinics, for the disabled. Preparation of the patient for surgery.

Money changed hands. The salaried employee did his job. The clinics ensure prompt payment of commission to the referrers. Counseling. Declaration.

Surgery. The stretcher is wheeled in. The patient exuberant. Full of hope.“I do not need the stretcher. I’ll march in.” 7 A.M. The theatre closes its doors. The patient is administered sedatives, as prelude to surgery. The patient is first in the list. 8 A.M. the surgeon goes in. A large crowd waits. A number of surgeries are listed for the day. “The operation will soon begin,” a resident. There are thirty of us. Babychayan is well liked by peers and relatives. 9 A.M. the surgeon comes out. “The surgery will soon take place.” We settle down. 10 A.M. The surgeon again,“The surgery will soon take place.” We are perplexed. “Rohit, did you pay him.” Poser from our cousin – Thampy, a doctor in the States, a former student, of the Professor. “Yes.” “In our days, this man was reputed, for the money he took.” “Hmm.” “If you haven’t, we’ll do that even now. May be, he is delaying, waiting for the pound.” “I have taken care of that.” “O.K.”

1.30 P.M. The residents emerge. “Surgery is over.” “He is in the post-operative.”Thampychayan and Renu, my wife, stare at Papa’s fingers.“Why is it bluish?” she asks. Thampychayan nods. He calls in a resident. He too examines it. “Wheel the patient back to the ward.” Efficient hands transfer the patient to the stretcher. “Don’t forget to pay the bearers”, Thampychayan. “O.K” The patient is back. The sisters take over. A string of tubes. I.V. Catheter. A big bottle under the bed to drain off the urine.

“Keep feeding the liquid.” Commotion. Papa is restless. Four sets of hands try to hold him down. He is unconscious. Yet he struggles. Thampychayan is concerned.“The condition is becoming serious.” I watch him speak quietly to Acha and Johny, my in laws. Thampychayan goes out. “Sir, the patient, Chacko, is critical. Please make haste.”

“I have my patients. I’ll come after I finish with them.” A poor man has a right to his living. “Sir, the patient you had referred to Dr.Shyamsundar. He is critical. post operative”, the in-laws spoke to the senior physician. “I have an emergency. A crisis. Will you all wait for me or return tomorrow?” The response was electric. The patients disbursed.

Dr. Ramachandra Iyer.P.K, MBBS, MD, MD, MRCP picked up Dr. Hari Govind. M, MBBS, MD, MD, DM, Professor of Cardiology. The arrival of the two seniors, professors, created a stir. Together, the patient was examined. “The BP has to climb. It’s very low”, they whispered. Medicines were prescribed. Administered. Tryst. “Hold on to his hands”, the resident. Grim.
****
Forty-eight long hours of vigil in front of the theatre. The patient remained critical.No contrarians among the eminent.
****
A fighter, he had been through a great deal. Singapore. Bombs rained. Shells blasted.

Scared, he ran and ran, lay flat. Japanese. British. American. Merciless. On and on it poured. Engulfed everyone. Many died violent. Many maimed. Survivors waited their turn.
***
As a child, an imminent watery grave stared at him.
***
Wild tuskers let him off.
***
A fall and a slide off a cliff with Mom – he held her all the time - evaded disaster.
***
Strange script.
***
“I never knew of this surgery”, Dr. M.K. Divakaran, the anaesthetist, a friend of Thampychayan. “Who did it?” “A PG.”
***
Socialism has ensured a fair deal.
**
“Did you satisfy him?” “Who?” “The surgeon.” “Yes.” “Presume, you didn’t give Rs. 500, the minimum, I mean his standard.” “No.” “That’s why the negligence.”
Thampychayan added, “You know why it went wrong?” “They started the oxygen very late. He suffered due to insufficiency of oxygen. They ought to have started the oxygen the moment the blue, appeared. It must have happened right when he was on the table. The PG was unaware, inexperienced, to notice it. The surgeon will do his job. Nothing else.” Specialisation. Compartments. Watertight.

“Who’s Rohit?” A resident, they were all friendly by then, popping out of the theatre.

It was more than two days since we were left in the lurch. “Will you come with me into the theatre?” “That’s it”, I thought, “The finis to a badly written script.” It was 2 A.M.

“I am not sterile. The theatre wear?” “Don’t bother. Keep away the footwear. Hurry.”

The relatives pushed me in. There he was, on a bed, wide awake.

“Who’s this?” “Speak out.” “Hey, the tube!” “Take it out.” “This is Rohit, my son, the eldest.” “What’s he?” “He stays in the city. Works in an office.” “Enough.” “Please go out.” “Your dad has regained consciousness. He’ll survive.” “Let him recoup.”

“Thank you,Oh,Lord.” The exit. “What happened?” “Is he in danger?” Quizzed ten pairs of eyes. “He’s alright. He’s alive. He’s spoken.” Smiles. Weary frames. Curtains to the long wait.

Future? Past, a bad dream. The present, we have. Much to strive for. The loser won.
It’s the beginning. Not the end. Fight. Fight to win. Never give up.Much to strive for. Much ahead. Hopes, plans for the bright Sun. Tomorrow.
*******















































































































‘